Dead on Arrival
by RainFlame
Summary: It's not easy solving your own murder. Even for a ghost. When Edward Elric is murdered, Truth offers him a deal: find his murderer in exchange for his life. Ed decides to take him up on his offer, but things aren't so simple. With Roy and Riza on the run and Al nowhere to be found, Ed has his work cut out for him. All in a day's work for a very dead Fullmetal Alchemist.
1. Prologue

Edward Elric had been dead for five minutes.

Edward Elric was completely _incensed_.

"I don't care how it happened, I'm not taking another step!" Ed shouted at the white figure looming before him, so bright that even the whiteness around it was gray in comparison.

"Truth," as it liked to be called, sat before the Gate, the only other discernible object in the painfully white expanse. Ed could make out no expression on its face, but Ed couldn't care less if the immortal being was pleased or annoyed.

"If I didn't know any better, I would say you didn't understand how this works," Truth said, its multi-toned voice most certainly annoyed. "When you die, _Alchemist_ , you are dead. You don't get to stop and negotiate on the way out."

Ed thought fast, mind spinning through scenarios and possibilities. "If you weren't interested, you would have sent me on through by now. But here we are! So, what, you're bored, right? What will it take, huh? What kind of stupid game do you want me to play?" Anything. Anything to get back to Al.

"Anything?" Truth asked, a cheshire grin slowly appearing on his otherwise blank face. "Is that so?"

Truth's sudden willingness gave Ed pause. He watched the white figure, but all he could see was that unsettling smile.

Ed had learned over the years that when dealing with Truth, Truth always won. Somehow things always worked out in its favor, and Ed could either accept that and leave Alphonse behind, or defy it.

Without Al, what did he really have to lose?

"What did you have in mind?" Ed asked cautiously. He could offer up a kidney, but for some reason he didn't think a kidney quite equated a human life. He didn't have time for another automail surgery, either. Things were moving too fast, changing. This stupid side mission of Mustang's had been nothing but trouble since the beginning—a major distraction from getting Al's body back in the first place—and with the homunculus starting to act up, Ed needed to be at the top of his game.

Being in the game at all, though, would be a good start.

"How about a friendly wager?"

Ed narrowed his eyes, because nothing Truth ever did was 'friendly.' "Like what?"

"How about I give you one week to solve your own murder? If you do, then you get to live again. If you cannot find your murderer in that time, then I get of yours whatever I want."

Ed didn't have too much recollection of the actual event. "I was murdered?"

Truth offered a half shrug. "It's a simple bullet wound to the neck. You died from blood loss. It's nothing a few blood transfusions wouldn't fix. With immediate aide, you might have lived."

So all this from a lousy bullet? And if Alphonse had been allowed to be there with him, Ed might not be in this mess in the first place?

Ed was going to kill Mustang.

"And all I have to do is find who pulled the trigger?" That sounded much too easy. 'Easy' wasn't Truth's style.

"That will be harder than you think," Truth informed.

That did make a fair amount of sense. Things always were. "So I have to go find my killer. How does this work? Do I get my body back?"

Truth made an irritated noise in the back of its throat. If Truth even had a throat. "Your questions are starting to bore me, Alchemist."

"Hey, I'm going to be making an informed decision here! What happens to my body?"

"Your body is unavailable at the moment. You'll get it back when you complete your objective. In the mean time, you will get along just fine without it."

Ed grunted. "That sounds like load of crap. What does that even mean?"

"You are a self-proclaimed genius, Alchemist. I trust you can figure it out."

Ed would be getting no more answers on that front, then. "And what will you be helping yourself to if I don't make it in the time limit?"

At this, Truth's grin returned full-force. "I haven't decided yet."

Ed tried and failed to suppress a shudder. "Two weeks."

Truth's smile evaporated. "One."

"Ten days."

"One week, and not a minute more. Remember, Alchemist, I don't need to bargain. I can easily just force your soul through the Gate and move on with my day."

"And what fun would that be?" Ed muttered under his breath.

"Do we have a deal, Alchemist?"

Ed didn't like Truth's eager tone of voice. But what choice did he have? If he died, he would be breaking his promise to Alphonse. He had to get Al's body back. There was no way he could leave him like that.

He had to try. He owed Al at least that much.

"Answer one more question," Ed said, crossing a flesh-and-blood arm over the metal one. "Why? What do you get out of this, besides whatever body parts you're going to harvest if I don't make it?"

Truth smiled again. "To put it simply, the world is not ready to part ways with Edward Elric just yet. There is more yet for you to do, and if you are diligent, you'll have more than one week to accomplish it in."

Ed frowned. "You're being awfully unspecific, Truth."

"Answers are for those who have sought first."

"What kind of poetic nonsense is that?!" Ed demanded.

"A final warning: you will not find yourself in the world mere minutes after your death. It date is now the twenty-first of April."

 _"_ _Three months?! I've been dead for three months?!"_

"Your body is safe, but only for one week. Good luck, Alchemist."

That smile was the last thing he saw before the white dissolved into black and he was no longer standing in front of the Gate, but in a vacant field. It was dark, the sky above black and heavy with threatening clouds. Lightening briefly illuminated the surrounding forest, trees lighting up like dozens of pale skeletons before darkness once again consumed them.

The light had lasted just long enough for him to get a look at the green grass beneath his slightly transparent body.

 _Crap._

"Well," Ed said to the dark sky. "This is going to suck."

* * *

 _Well, well, well. Look who couldn't stay away from the fandom for too long xD_

 _I just love FMA. I cannot keep out._

 _So, I've been re-reading the Dresden Files (ermygosh, favorite book series ever), and I'm pretty sure Jim Butcher has had heavy influence on my writing style over the years. Anyway, I was reading Ghost Story and this idea came to me. So expect some influence from that particular novel._

 _I'm making absolutely no predictions on my updating schedule. I rarely keep them anyway :'D I have four unfinished FMA fan fics on my computer, but this is the one that's holding my muse right now. Hopefully I can wrap the others up and let them see the light of day sometime this year lol._

 _Please drop a review if you have the time :) See you in chapter one!_

 _God Bless,_

 _-RainFlame_


	2. Chapter 1

_Warning: Brief mentions of suicidal thoughts._

* * *

Edward Elric had been dead for three months.

Roy Mustang sat on the edge of the bridge, considering the revolver in his hands. It felt foreign in his grip, the way a gunman might regard a sword suddenly thrust upon him. Roy was used to wielding fire instead of firearms.

He had thought about what had happened, of course. He still thought about it, even though it had been three months. The weight of his guilt pulled at him every waking hour, and haunted him in his sleep. Some days Roy didn't even get out of bed.

This was a better day. If one could call cradling a revolver on the edge of a bridge while contemplating a sudden end to his life "better."

He glanced down, past the gun and into the rolling river below. The Longwaters River flowed through East City and on into Angren, where Roy had been spending a lot of time these days. He stared down south, squinting at the way the late day sun reflected off the water like million glass shards. A few hundred kilometers in that direction led to Resembool.

Roy didn't want to think about Resembool at the moment.

They had been on a bridge very much like this one. They were walking, Ed by his side and Hawkeye behind him. Ed stopped suddenly, golden eyes widening in surprise as scarlet fluid burst from his neck. The bullet went straight through, lodging itself in Roy's chest cavity. Roy had no strength to reach out and grab the boy's extended hand before his body tumbled off the bridge and down into the water below.

Roy shut his eyes. He didn't want to think about Ed, either.

"Sir."

Roy flinched at the sudden greeting, the hand without a gun raising instinctively to snap. But no glove covered his pale hand, and no spark flashed between his fingertips.

His eyes rose to meet Riza's. She stood on the narrow footbridge, dressed in civvies with a paper bag of groceries balanced on one hip. Several months ago, he might have commented on how lovely and very domestic she looked in her stylish black trousers and delicate-looking green blouse. But recent events, the stern look in her eyes and the sidearm she clutched in her free hand forestalled any attempt he might have made to flirt, no matter how half-heartedly. "Sir, it isn't safe for you to be out in the open like this."

He offered her a thin smile, folding one leg under him and grabbing on to the railing with his free hand. "I thought you said the sunshine would be good for me," he countered, hoisting himself to his feet, careful to keep his weight mostly on his right. His left leg still wouldn't take much.

Riza had removed two bullets from his body, but Roy had taken three hits. One went through his l thigh, one was halted by his hip bone, and the other—the kill shot—stopped just a few inches below his collar bone.

If Ed's neck hadn't been there, it likely would have been in his heart. And Roy wished more than anything that Ed's neck hadn't been there.

Riza holstered her weapon under her jacket at the small of her back and grabbed his cane from its place against the railing. "It would if you don't get shot." He tried not to wince at the thought. She offered it to him and he gratefully accepted, releasing the railing and transferring his weight onto the stick.

"Thanks," he said, holstering his own revolver at his side, hidden safely under his own coat. He noticed her eyes lingering on it in a careful sort of way until it was out of sight. "Anything to report?"

She shook her head. "No. The town is quiet. No sign of military personnel anywhere."

"Did you get it?"

Riza sighed and reached into her paper bag, pulling out a wrapped paper parcel, presumably bacon fresh from the butcher shop. "Not that this is in any way healthy."

Roy's smile was a little more genuine this time. It was easier to not succumb to his depressive thoughts when she was near. "Come on, Riza. If the bullets didn't get me, I doubt a little bacon will."

"Your body is still recovering. You need proper nutrition to heal."

"Humor me."

Riza frowned, but didn't comment further. It was no secret that Roy's appetite hadn't been what it should be. All the previous batches of bacon had been thrown out less than half eaten, but Roy kept requesting it and Riza kept buying it and berating him, despite knowing he hardly ate it. He didn't even know why they did it. Riza wasn't one to delude herself. Roy supposed it had become a sort of pathetic game where they pretended something was normal while the rest of their lives fell apart around them.

"We should get back," she said, eyes scanning the surrounding trees, her caution returning. She had always been the careful one, but since the incident, she had become almost paranoid. Roy was certain that his behavior hadn't helped anything, either. He hadn't exactly been the most supportive and reliable as of late.

Roy nodded, taking a few hobbling steps forward. He felt her concerned eyes on him, but did his best to ignore it. The old boards creaked under his shuffling steps as he made his slow way off the bridge and onto solid ground. "How long has it been, Riza?"

"This is our ninth day in Angren."

"Feels like a month," Roy said absently. They'd never stayed anywhere for more than a week since his recovery. "I meant, how long have we been on the run?"

Riza slowed her steps to walk beside him. "From the time of the incident, almost three months."

The "incident" had given him his generous limp, a hundred nightmares and taken Edward Elric from this world.

It had been a completely routine inspection. There was no reason to have been concerned. There had hardly been a reason to have two alchemists on board, except that Edward had just gotten back from another mission that ended in complete disaster. Edward had entirely demolished a government building, offended three foreign officials, and had earned himself a lifetime ban from the city of Parteros. Roy decided that the brat needed a lesson in diplomacy and had taken him along with Hawkeye for instruction. Alphonse had been left behind because Roy wanted to witness Ed's lack of restraint for himself without Al's interference. The boy had to learn to control himself without his little brother, and Roy intended to assist him.

All Roy had assisted him in doing was taking a bullet.

A bullet meant for Roy's heart.

Roy didn't remember much after the fact. Riza told him that he hadn't been responsive for much of the time afterward. She had somehow managed to drag his useless body into the brush and hide them for almost eight hours while the small team of men in Amestrian uniform that had fired on them searched the forest. Then, under the cover of night, she found an abandoned shack and makeshift supplies, dug two bullets out of his body and wrapped his wounds, all while listening to his feverish babbling about Ed needing help. Riza Hawkeye managed to keep a cool head while watching a child die, then caring for her gravely injured commanding officer while he acted like a complete lunatic.

She was the strongest person he knew. These past months had not been his proudest moments, but she had stayed. It would have been far safer for her if they had split up. She could have disappeared easily on her own, but he was both recognizable and injured. Still, she insisted it was her duty. He hadn't even asked.

"We'll need to keep moving soon, Sir," she said as they walked down the dirt path. A cold wind suddenly picked up, throwing dust at their backs.

"It will be a shame. I really like this house," Roy said with a sigh. Truthfully, the thought of walking to the next town made his leg cramp up in dread. He certainly didn't have the stamina he used to.

"Sir, you transmuted it. You can make another like it."

"Don't you find that a tad suspicious? Identical-looking houses, one town after the next?"

"You're right. I suppose you'll have to just tear yourself away from it."

The town of Angren was sparsely populated, and mostly by country folk. Their presence had been noted, but with the town so far off the beaten path, the danger of discovery by the military was slim. The only military presence was a lone elderly gentleman with whiskers long enough to sweep a floor and the eyesight of a bat that "guarded" the outpost between his naps. It was as safe as any place, but Riza was probably right. It was time to move on.

Roy's eyes wondered to the cluster of buildings below them. The country around them was predominantly hills and forest, and the town, gathered mostly in the valley below, was spread out along the meadow. The house that Roy had constructed was far enough away that they could see trouble coming from the village, but close enough to get him his bacon supply.

"I don't suppose there was anything from Hughes?" Roy asked, navigating his way around a sizable rut in the road.

Their only communication with anyone from home were adds posted in The Central Times. Hughes kept them updated on the manhunt via discreet messages shared in the classifieds. The last they had heard from him was over a week ago. Alphonse was still missing. The military was still actively searching for Roy and Riza under the guise of finding a pair of MIA soldiers, but there was more to it. Someone wanted Roy dead, and they were high enough up in the military to get away with it.

Roy didn't know if Ed was supposed to die in that process, but he supposed it didn't really make much difference at this point.

"The Central Times doesn't run in Angren but twice a week, sir. You know that," she chastised lightly. "I'll pick up a paper tomorrow."

The small knoll Roy had constructed their "house" on was just steep enough to give him plenty of trouble. He more or less dragged his useless limb through the grass, Riza watching him struggle but having the decency to not say anything or offer help. He had suffered enough humiliation these past three months to last him a lifetime.

Roy made it to the summit, panting at the pain and exertion, his free hand moving to grasp at his hip. The muscle there would cramp often, probably from all of the scar tissue and perhaps bone fragments left in the bullet's wake. He tried to steady his breathing, inhaling deeply, the way Riza told him to whenever the pain threatened to steal his breath away.

"Sir?"

Roy opened eyes he didn't remember closing. "Hmm?"

She stared at him with thinly-veiled concern. "It's better to take a break occasionally than to push too hard."

He tried to give her a smile, but judging by her stern expression, it probably came across as a grimace. "I'm fine. Just need to catch my breath."

She wasn't at all convinced, but she didn't respond. Instead, she scanned their surroundings with a sharp eye.

The house was a simple construct of wood and not much else. Roy was thankful for the unseasonably warm spring they had been having, because his craftsmanship was nothing to write home about. The planks were ill-fitting and uneven. Drafts cut through the two roomed house like blades, and despite Riza's best efforts to make the hovel seem like a home, any visitor could tell that the place was lacking in both charm and comfort. Riza had even been gifted a flowerpot by an old woman in the village with a few wilting daisies in it. She had placed it on the front porch in an attempt to brighten the ramshackle construct, but the cold nights were quickly doing the plants in, too. There was nothing about the house that didn't scream "dilapidated."

But Riza's gaze didn't stop on the house. It rested on the line of trees just behind it. She only stared for a moment though before she looked away, back the way they had come. "We have a problem, Sir."

A cold sensation settled in Roy's gut like a coiling snake. He couldn't say that he particularly cared if he died at the moment, but Riza being in danger was another matter entirely, and a dormant protective instinct stirred. "Oh?"

"One unidentified persons visible, likely male. Can't make out much else."

Roy leaned over his cane as if to further catch his breath, eyes wondering over the forest brush. He saw nothing. She really did have a hawk's eyes.

"I don't suppose you believe him to be friendly?" Roy asked.

She looked unimpressed. "As friendly as anyone hiding in the shadows ever is, I suppose."

He grunted. Fair enough.

Even while Roy hadn't been interested in living, much less escaping from threats, Riza had still planned for events like these and kept her head about her. She rifled through her sack and removed a couple of things before replacing them, pretending to look for something and not find it. "We'll head back into town and leave from there. Alous isn't too far away."

Alous was at least a two day's hike to the east and Roy dreaded it. The trains were not too reliable this far from Central, and though the security wasn't something they wanted to deal with anyway, they didn't have time to wait for one. They needed to get out of town as soon as possible.

Roy nodded, turning to start back to town the way they had come.

He stopped when he saw the man standing in their path.

Riza stopped too, her fingers twitching toward her gun before she firmly wrapped them around her grocery sack.

"Good evening," Roy greeted as smoothly as he knew how. Ed had always said that he could charm a wet cat. Roy had teased him relentlessly about his hick country sayings, but the memory now left him hollow. Roy turned his attention back to what was in front of him, where it should have been. Focusing was sometimes more difficult in the wake of the incident.

The stranger was a man around his late thirties with auburn hair hidden mostly under his cap. He was slight of build, something that would be considered odd among a soldier, if he were military. His slight eyes were dark, like coffee, and his nose looked like it had been broken once or twice from the crooked way it sat on his narrow face.

"Good evening," he replied in a low baritone voice, a broad smile on his thin lips. Wind ruffled his visible hair. "Lovely night for a stroll, isn't it?"

Roy made a show of glancing at the sky. The sun was just dipping below the hills in the west, the sky turning from blue to a dusky purple color. Night was approaching fast. Clouds were stacking one on top of the other off to the northeast, lightening flashing in their depths. It was too far away to hear the thunder, but if the wind were any judge, it would be upon them in less than an hour. Some sort of backdoor cold front coming through? It wasn't exactly what Roy would call 'lovely.' "Of course. Is there something we can help you with?"

The man shrugged his shoulders, his coat moving upward over his body and catching against his side. A hidden weapon, maybe? "Just wanted a chance to talk to you and your lovely wife. Those groceries must be heavy!" he said to Riza. "Did you walk all the way from the village with them? Here, I'll help you."

"No need—" Riza began, but he snatched the bag from her.

"I insist! I'll just follow you in. My, these _are_ heavy!" He turned to Roy. "Why aren't you carrying these for such a beautiful woman?"

Roy bit back a heated reply and waved his cane in explanation.

"Oh, my apologies," he said, almost managing to sound sheepish. "Well," he continued, turning back to Riza, "I'm sure your husband would have carried them for you if he could."

The words stung more than they should have, especially coming from some rat-faced stranger.

If this man or his friend behind the house wanted them dead, they would have been shooting by now. Perhaps they needed to confirm their identities? Or maybe they were hoping to take them alive? Maybe they thought someone from the village below might see something if they shot them here. Those were the only logical reasons Roy could think of for this man to want get in their house.

"I'm sorry, what did you say your name was?"

"How rude of me. Just call me Michael."

Roy didn't bat an eye at familiarity this man imposed on them. That could be explained away. The man was an odd duck. Roy didn't even flinch at the "wife" reference that Michael had used. It was a logical assumption. Many in the village had made it multiple times these past days, and in every other town they had stopped in. What made him uncomfortable was the man's tone of voice, his posture, _everything_. It was wrong somehow, not military, but something else similar and worse. A hired gun? Someone working outside of the law?

Roy eyed him for a moment longer. "This way, please," he said, turning his back when his base instincts screamed at him not to. He made his slow, careful way to the porch, using the railing to help get himself up the stairs. His hand pulled away with a couple of splinters.

"What a lovely home," Michael commented admiringly, turning his gaze that was just a little too bright to view the flowerpot of dead daisies next to him.

Roy disliked him and really wanted to light him up like a bonfire, or at the very least shoot him. Instead, he invited him in through a thin smile.

Michael stepped over the threshold. Riza caught his eye on her way in, sharing with him a warning that Roy both understood and ignored. He was going to let this man inside, and then he was going to interrogate him. He would find out who sent the little rat-faced sleaze-bag to their home, and then he would incinerate him and their whole stupid house.

By the time Roy closed the door and turned back around, there was a gun in his face.

Michael smiled. "So tell me, do you know a Colonel Roy Mustang?"

* * *

 _Lol ugh, this chapter. Hopefully it hasn't been tweaked to death. After I posted the first chapter, I went through and did a rough outline for the whole thing because it'd be silly for me to plan ahead before I was knee-deep in it, right? Takes the spontaneity out of it. And the stability. And the organization . . ._

 _So this isn't going to be nearly as angsty as StP, but that's not to say there won't be some angst. Case-in-point, Roy. That man is an angsty magnet. He lends himself well to it c: And Ed is just as bad. It's gonna be a good time! :D_

 _This one'll be on the shorter side, so maybe less than 15 chapters? I mean, seven days? How much trouble can they get into in seven days that they haven't in three months?_

 _That, my friends, is relative to how much caffeine I've consumed and how much sleep I get :)_

 _Gosh, I'm rambling. That's what rambling looks like. I'm going to go to bed like the old woman I am. I mean, I told kids to stay off my lawn on Sunday. Pretty sure that means I've reached senior status. These youths were taking their bikes down my concrete stairs. They were going to break their necks, and then I'd have to find a way to clean blood off of concrete. I don't need that aggravation._

 _If you have the time, drop a review and I'll see you next time!_

 _God Bless,_

 _-RainFlame_


	3. Chapter 2

Edward Elric never thought of himself as being particularly lucky.

So he supposed that Truth dumping him out in the middle of nowhere after being shot to death three months ago was to be expected.

Ed decided that his first order of business would be to figure out where, exactly, Truth had left him.

After that part, he had no idea what he was going to do.

He trudged through the field and into the forest, heading for the faint glow against the dark sky. That kind of light meant there was either the last remnants of sunlight, or a decent-sized village. Maybe he would be able to find help there. Or at the very least, figure out where he was.

Despite the dark, Ed noticed that he didn't have too much trouble seeing. With the clouds and only occasional flashes of lightening, it should have been a lot darker than it was. He stepped over a fallen tree and lifted a hand to his face. It looked real enough, the metal and wire visible in the dimness, though he could make out the faint outline of trees behind it.

So, what, he was a ghost? Some sort of spirit? Ed had never believed in such things, but maybe that explained why he was able to see clearly despite the dark. It wasn't like a spirit really had corneas and cones and lenses to interpret light with, right?

But how did that even work? Truth said he could get along fine without his actual body, but Ed had been screwed over by Truth before. What kind of limitations would his current state set on him?

Of course, that was all conjecture, because ghosts didn't exist.

But if he were an actual ghost, he was going to kill Mustang.

"Stupid Truth and his stupid games," Ed muttered, shoving his hands inside his pockets.

He finally came through the trees to a precipice. Below him, nestled in the valley, sat a small town, lights burning defiantly against the oncoming storm.

It was as good of a place as any to find help.

Ed eyed the steep drop underneath him, wondering what would happen if he jumped. Would he die again somehow? Despite the improbability, Ed wasn't about to test his lack of luck further to save himself half an hour walking around it. With an irritated sigh, he picked his way down the rugged path.

As he did, the rain started to pour down.

"Great," he growled. "This is real helpful, Truth!" he shouted at the sky, picturing that smug immortal being with it's annoying smile sitting up there laughing.

After a few more steps, he realized that the rain wasn't soaking into his coat, or dampening his hair. Actually, he couldn't even feel it against his face. All he felt was a strange sort of chill as it passed right through him to wet the stone under his feet.

He shivered, and not from cold. It was just creepy.

The path before him leveled off, and up on the knoll above him, he saw a house.

Ed didn't know why it caught his attention. There wasn't anything especially remarkable about it, aside from how decrepit it was. It looked like something a tornado had picked up, spun around and deposited from a hundred meters in the air, then someone came in behind it and sandblasted it for good measure. Light glowed from a small window, casting faint shadows on the grass that the lightning above obliterated with each flash.

Since Ed wasn't in the habit of questioning his instincts, he took the hill at a lope, coming to a stop only when he reached the porch. The floorboards didn't so much as whisper under his weight, which Ed found terribly odd, given how shoddy they looked. The wood was scaled, the way that quick or poor transmutations usually were.

He paused outside the door, listening. From inside, he heard a voice, and he knew without a doubt it belonged to Mustang.

Hot irritation swelled inside of him. Though Ed didn't remember what, exactly, had happened, he just knew that the idiot was responsible for him being dead _somehow_. So now he was hiding out in this dump? Probably got kicked out of the military for getting the youngest State Alchemist in history killed. Good.

When Ed got in there, he was going to give that lowlife a piece of his mind.

Speaking of, he wondered if Mustang would notice the way the light passed right through him, or his complete lack of shadow. It was unsettling, to say the least, and if Ed found it odd, Mustang would find it doubly so.

Steeling himself, Ed reached out to pull the door open, wrapping his fingers around the wooden handle and . . .

They closed together in an empty fist.

Ed blinked.

He stared at his hand. It looked like it was closed around the handle, but he couldn't feel the handle. Only a chill, like the way the rain felt as it passed right through him.

Unfortunately, it made sense that if he couldn't touch rain, he couldn't touch anything else either.

Unfortunately, people were bound to notice him just walking through a wall.

That was Ghosting One-Oh-One, right? Ghosts walked through things.

Ed groaned, running a hand down his face. The fact that he was even addressing this situation as if there was logic to be had was insane. That, and there were no such things as ghosts. He might not have a body per se, but he was as real as anything else. He was able to have limited interaction with his environment, like the ability to stand on the front porch. Why the door of the house was different was completely beyond him at the moment.

He was still holding out for this all to be some stupid dream.

Ed tentatively put his hand up to the door and pressed his fingertips against it. Instead of halting against the alchemized wood, they pushed on through. It felt like digging his fingers into ice, the frigid sensation both numbing and burning at the same time.

Well, this proved his walking-through-walls theory.

With one more long sigh, Ed pulled his hand back and took a steadying breath. Then, he inhaled and stepped through the wall. That strange and uncomfortable sensation happened again, but on a much larger scale, burning and numbing his body all at the same time until he pushed through on the other side. With a yelp of pain, Ed shook away the sensation and looked around the room.

Now again, Ed had never thought of himself as being particularly lucky. He had managed to keep himself and Alphonse alive—up until three months ago, anyway—but since he had joined to military, he seemed to just have a knack for walking in on trouble.

So when he found himself in the front room of some poorly alchemized dump with both Mustang and Hawkeye sitting at the table and a gun trained between them, he didn't regard it as an especially fortuitous situation.

Call him a pessimist, but it stood to reason that this whole situation was somehow Mustang's fault. He was Ed's only lead, so if Mustang died, then he'd be up a creek without a paddle.

Besides, Ed wanted to shoot him himself.

And even though he had just passed _through a wall,_ no one even bothered to look at him.

Actually, one even looked up.

Their conversation didn't even falter.

The only reaction he even sort of got was the way Mustang glanced at Hawkeye, then back at the man with the gun.

Was that even a reaction? Or did the gunman just say something particularly insulting?

Ed had the nagging feeling in his gut that maybe they just couldn't see him at all, but he couldn't actually be a ghost, could he? Sure, he could walk through walls, but maybe that was just a perk of being dead with his body "unavaliable," as Truth had put it. _Actual_ ghosts, like the kind Ed had heard stories of as a child and the kind that Feury claimed haunted Warehouse thirteen didn't actually exist. They were myths, concocted to ensure that teenagers didn't stay out too late where they didn't belong and small children stayed safely tucked in bed. There was no such thing as ghosts.

But what was a ghost, except a soul without a body?

Ed felt a little sick, but he didn't know if he even really had a stomach to be sick with. Maybe that was another perk of being dead. Was this the kind of existence that awaited Alphonse if Ed didn't get his body back?

Thunder cracked and Ed jumped before focusing back on the task at hand; save Mustang and Hawkeye first, succumb to spiraling depression later.

Ed took a moment to study the man with the gun. He had his back to him, so Ed couldn't make out much, but he certainly didn't recognize him from behind. He was a slight man, with long limbs and auburn hair stuffed under a cap. He looked like a scarecrow from the back. Well, then, Ed was going to just have to take full advantage of their obliviousness.

Something simple and elegant. Like pulling the floorboards up to restrain him.

With a self-satisfied smirk, Ed brought his hands together in a clap, then leaned down and slammed them against the floor.

Nothing.

There was no hum or spark of alchemic electricity. There was no brilliant blue light that heralded a transmutation. The floorboards didn't even groan under the force of his hands.

Ed tried again, and again nothing happened.

He turned his eyes to the ceiling. "Is this some kind of joke, Truth?!" he demanded.

No one so much as winced. No one shifted or turned their head as if they had heard him. He was invisible and inaudible and there was nothing he could do about it.

In a last-ditch effort to try to throw the odds in his friends' favor, Ed sucked in a breath and leapt, landing right in the gunman's face. "Boo!" he shouted, waving his hands over his head in the most ghostly way he could manage.

But embracing his ghostly state accomplished no more than denying it. All he succeeded in doing was getting a good look at the creep's face and an unsettling feeling as the man's coffee-brown eyes stared right through him.

He looked like a scarecrow from the front, too.

"I haven't got all evening, Colonel Mustang," he was saying, the gun waving impatiently by Ed's left ear. "If you would just be so kind as to tell me who you were working with, I can be on my way."

Ed turned around to see Mustang and Hawkeye and he saw them in a way he hadn't until now. They looked _tired_. Hawkeye looked like she had been through the ringer, her eyes bloodshot and hair too untidy for the Hawkeye Ed had always known. She had rings under her eyes, dark shadows that stood out on her paler-than-normal face and gave away just how little she had been sleeping lately. Still, though, she sat in her chair, ramrod straight and defiant in her own, quiet, tired way.

And if Hawkeye looked bad, Mustang looked positively awful. He had always been pale due to how much time he spent bossing people around from behind a desk, but now he looked almost translucent. He leaned heavily the cane propped in front of him, like it was the only thing keeping him from falling out of his seat. His hair was disheveled, very much unlike the proud man Ed knew, with dark stubble prickling his jaw. He looked just a little bit too thin and too fragile and too unlike Mustang. His eyes, though, were the worst of it. Even with his eyes trained on the gunman with a foggy sort of interest, they still looked lost and broken, like a man back from war. Haunted.

And these two were matching wits with some crazy armed scarecrow?

"Mustang grimaced. Ed didn't know if it was in distaste or pain. "I still don't know what you're talking about. Could you be more specific?"

Scarecrow narrowed his eyes. "Alright, I'll play along. Over three months ago, you received a letter. Inside was a map. I want to know who sent it to you."

"A map?" Mustang asked flatly. "You're telling me that you're going to put me in my grave for a map?"

"I believe you're aware of just how sensitive the information on it is."

"You can believe that the world is flat for all I care," Mustang said irritably. He was behaving more like the gunman had interrupted his nap rather than threatening to interrupt his life. The man had lost it. He was going to get both himself and Hawkeye shot.

Scarecrow raised his eyebrows just a fraction. "I don't think you're taking this seriously."

Crap.

Mustang didn't pick up on it quite as fast as Ed did. "You're right," he replied. "You're about to shoot me over a map. I think you're taking it a bit _too_ seriously."

Scarecrow smiled. "Oh? Am I?"

Then he turned the gun on Hawkeye and shot her.

* * *

 _Cliffhangers. Oops._ _Scarecrow/Michael is a jerk._

 _So, there's plot, too? Not just angst for the sake of angst? Who would have guessed? xD_

 _Okay, can we all agree that Hawkeye is the most amazing person ever? Every time I write her, I have a brand new respect for her. She's just so hardcore._ _I like how I say this after getting her shot. Am I awful or what? :'D_

 _Anyways, hope you enjoyed! I started the next chappy, if that's even sort of a good indication of when I'll update (prooooobably not lol)._

 _Hope you enjoyed! If you have the time, please drop a review, and I'll see you next chapter!_

 _God Bless,_

 _-RainFlame_


	4. Chapter 3

Ed dove for Hawkeye, but even if he could have done anything, it was far too late.

Hawkeye didn't utter a sound. For a moment, the only indication that she had been hit at all was the color draining from her face and the red stain forming at her shoulder, billowing across the fabric of her blouse like a poisonous flower.

Then her lips slackened in shock and she crumpled forward in her chair. Her hand went to her right shoulder in a vain attempt to staunch the bleeding, but red leaked out between her fingers, soaking through her shirt completely and falling in thick drops to the floor.

Ed looked on, powerless to do anything but watch.

Mustang moved faster than Ed had previously thought possible. "Riza!" he cried, the cane falling from his loosened fingers as he dove forward, on his knees in front of her, his own hands moving to cover the wound. She moaned at the new pressure, sweat breaking out on her pale forehead. "Riza, hang on," he said, words laced with desperation.

Mustang turned his suddenly clear gaze on Scarecrow, eyes brimming with cold hate. _"Why?"_

"Are you taking this seriously now?" Scarecrow asked with a cool smile. "I asked you a question earlier, Colonel Mustang. I expect an answer. Who sent you that letter?"

Mustang continued to glare, but whether he didn't know or just refused to say, Ed couldn't tell. He kept one hand pressed firmly against Hawkeye's shoulder, the other one wrapped behind her back. "Who are you working for?"

Scarecrow sighed, and from this close, Ed could see his finger flick over metal, throwing the safety off again. "Still not willing to cooperate? Maybe a bullet in her leg will convince you."

Again, Mustang moved, and Ed didn't see it coming.

In one, fluid motion, he pulled a gun out from behind Hawkeye's back and shot Scarecrow in the chest four times.

Scarecrow's eyes widened as the bullets found their mark, four holes drilled neatly in a cluster over his heart. Blood spread like a dark red tide and his eyes rolled back into his head. The gun fell from his loose hand, clattering to the floorboards and his body quickly followed, dead before it hit the ground.

Ed's nonexistent stomach lurched. No matter how many times he saw death, he would never be used to it, nor the casual way the people he knew doled it out.

Mustang watched the man fall, that cold hatred still burning in his eyes. Ed might admit that it was almost frightening, if he were prone to admitting such things. Finally, when it was clear that Scarecrow wasn't breathing, Mustang threw the gun on the table and turned his attention back to Hawkeye, the coldness of his gaze melting into worry.

She opened her mouth, pale lips forming pain-weakened words. "We . . . antiseptic, bandages . .."

"Shh, Riza, it's through and through, you'll be fine," Mustang assured her, or maybe it was himself he was assuring, Ed didn't know. Mustang took her weight against him and pulled her forward, helping her in a slow collapse to the ground. She noticeably bit back a cry as her shoulder was jostled. "Shh, you'll be fine," he said, repeating himself.

"Need— _ah!_ " she gasped, face crumpling. Ed had been shot before. Once the shock wore off it was no picnic, and he grit his teeth, frustrated by being unable to even hold her hand while she was in so much pain. "Ah . . . get the . . . the kit. In my bag."

Mustang nodded. He struggled to his feet, hands wet with her blood. Watching him walk was about as painful as watching Hawkeye get shot. He took graceless, uneven strides, almost dragging his left leg behind him as he hastily tried to cross the small house without the aide of his cane. What had happened? What had reduced him to this, an angry, crippled man with ghosts in his eyes?

This wasn't what Ed expected to find. None of this was what he had expected to find. He had been gone three months. How had they come to this in three months?

After listening to some rustling and thumps, and Hawkeye's ragged attempts at deep breathing, Mustang finally reemerged from the back room, the bloodied kit and towel in his hand, the other grasping at his hip as he made his way back to Hawkeye's side.

He collapsed next to her, his stony expression undermined by the pained lines carved in his face. "Here, let me see," he said, prying her clawing hands away from the wound.

When he started tearing away her blouse, Ed looked away out of respect. His gaze wondered out the ill-fitted window. He had a perfect view of the town about half a kilometer down the hill, misted over by a haze of rain. The lights spread out like golden marbles spilled in the valley below, round and fuzzy with precipitation. At some point the rain had gone from a light patter a few moments ago to a heavy pour, lashing down on the roof and leaking on through. A sizable puddle was already forming just to Mustang's left.

Lightening flashed, revealing a shadow moving by the tree line.

Ed felt the hairs on his neck raise. He glanced down at Mustang. The man was still completely absorbed in tending to Hawkeye. He looked back up and waited for another flash.

Again, the land was illuminated by white light. The shadow was closer.

"Mustang, you idiot," Ed breathed. He looked around the barren room. A crude table with two chairs sat right beside the two soldiers. Behind Ed, a long bench with some simple bowls and cooking utensils and a bucket of fresh water. A gas stove took up one corner. Then there was the dead body and two guns. Absolutely nothing of use for an immaterial ghost.

Ed gritted his teeth and went through the front wall.

 _"Gah!"_ he yelped as he passed through, the bitter cold of it stinging and burning like nothing Ed knew. He shook the pain off and leapt off the porch, the rain immediately plummeting right through him with as much discomfort as tiny insects striking his skin. Tiny insects with stingers.

He pushed that thought from his mind, too, focusing on the task at hand. He leapt off the front porch and ran across the grass toward the moving shadow, a thousand instincts screaming at him to run the other way. It didn't take long for him to get to the shadow of a man. He stopped only a few meters away, not feeling winded in the slightest.

The dark did nothing to impair his vision this close. He could easily make out the man's features, as well as the sleek black of the rifle slung across his back. He was of average size, clothed entirely in black, lending him the look of an animated shadow. He was all lean muscle and sharp angles, his black hair swept up in a short tail that only served to accent his high cheekbones. Eyes the same blue as frozen lakes stared right through him, locked on the window of the house.

"Okay, creep, what are you up to?" Ed asked to himself. He didn't recognize the newcomer, but he doubted in the wake of Scarecrow's little stunt that this guy was good news.

The man frowned, and Ed turned to see what he was frowning at. No one was in the window. Maybe he was looking for Scarecrow? Was he Scarecrow's backup?

The man started moving again, footsteps silent in the loudness of the rain. Ed quickly backpedaled out of his way, then followed him back toward the house. He skirted the hovel, climbing up the porch with careful steps and pressing himself against the side of the house, clearly not wanting to be seen. Most likely hostile.

Then he pulled a small sidearm from his chest holster.

Definitely hostile.

Ed dove back into the house. "Mustang, I really need you to pay attention right now!" Ed said, coming up beside the older man. Mustang was still over Hawkeye, bloodied hands shaking as they tried to wrap her shoulder. "Mustang!" Ed shouted, knowing it was useless and doing it anyway. "Come on, for once in your miserable life, would you just _listen to me?!"_

Mustang frowned as he worked, his steady, methodical approach to caring for Hawkeye a sharp contrast to Ed's racing heart.

Lightening flared, throwing a shadow across Mustang and Hawkeye's prone form. The shadowed man was in the window. Ed jumped, his sudden appearance inciting a panic that Ed almost choked on.

Mustang and Hawkeye were going to die, and there was absolutely nothing Ed could do about it.

Time seemed to slow down, as if giving Ed one last chance to take in every morbid detail.

The shadowed man raised his gun, the barrel throwing several droplets high, catching in a flash of lightening like diamonds.

Mustang remained absolutely oblivious, tying off the bandage with his shaking hands.

He would be the first one shot.

Ed threw himself on Mustang, a stupid, futile attempt to save him from the incoming fire.

Or so he thought.

The sensation was different from the sting of walking through things. It was like flopping into water, the surface giving and forming around him, but with a bite.

He felt off, his body feeling bigger and lighter, like before automail. His center of gravity was higher, his limbs aching and body chiming in with a host of horrible complaints, leg throbbing mercilessly, and there was this terrible sense of loss and hopelessness that threatened to drown out his concern.

He looked down at his hands and saw Hawkeye's blood.

These weren't his hands.

These were two whole, complete, flesh-and-blood human hands, with long, slender fingers and callouses from years of paperwork and a thousand snaps. Under the blood were a half dozen scars Ed didn't recognize, old burns and wounds and scratched palms from recent falls.

These weren't his hands, but he recognized them.

They were Mustang's. He was actually _possessing_ Mustang's body.

Ed didn't have time to contemplate it further. The shadowed man had his gun trained right between Mustang's eyes. Ed clapped Mustang's hands together and slammed them to the ground, a circle he had used a million times burning in his mind.

Stone shot up from the ground, busting through the floorboards in a shower of splinters. Ed shaped it, forming a shield between Mustang and Hawkeye and the incoming bullets.

The window shattered as the gun barked three times, two bullets striking the rock, one ricocheting off with a high whistle.

Then, it was as if Mustang somehow woke up and Ed was thrown out of Mustang's body. The force of it was the same as if Armstrong had punched him in the chest and just as pleasant.

Ed landed in a heap on the floor and looked up in time to see Mustang snatch the gun from Scarecrow's side, lean around the shield and empty the clip. The muzzle flash lit the room in bright bursts, round after round of lead punching through the window and wall until the gun clicked empty.

Ed took a steadying breath through his nose. The smell of gunpowder drowned out the sweet smell of rain.

What had just happened?

The silence was louder than the gunfire, and that had been deafening. Ed shook his head, stepping over Hawkeye and his shield and looking through the window.

The shadowed man was nowhere to be found.

Ed turned back around. Mustang was still kneeling on the ground. He took a moment to just breathe, chest heaving up and down like a hare after narrowly escaping a jackal. Slowly, he lowered the gun, eyes still glued to the window.

"Did . . . did you get him?" Hawkeye asked, the pain in her voice now mixed with concern.

"No," Ed answered.

Mustang hesitated. "I don't think so. Can you stand?"

She slowly propped herself up on one elbow. Roy watched her with barely veiled concern. The morphine he had just injected into her arm a minute ago should have started to take effect.

She struggled to sit up, wincing a bit when she was finally righted. "I think so. We should go."

Mustang nodded. "We should wait for daylight. The last thing we need is to get ambushed in the dark, and getting soaked wouldn't do us any favors, either."

Hawkeye looked like she wanted to protest, but thought the better of it. "Shall I take first watch, Sir?"

"Not a chance," Mustang huffed. He retrieved his cane from the floor beside him and struggled to his feet, which didn't look any easier than it had the first time. He offered Hawkeye a hand and slowly, gingerly, helped her stand. Any color that she had gained immediately drained from her face. She took a faltering step back, then collapsed in the chair.

It was time consuming and slow going, but Mustang managed to coax her into the back room, presumably helping her to bed.

Rain pounded the roof and Ed waited, keeping his eyes far away from the body in the middle of the room.

Mustang hobbled in shortly after, dragging a chair away from the table to the other side of the room. He put it next to the stove, turned it around and sat in it heavily, looking like a man of ninety instead of one in the prime of his life. His haunted eyes watched the window.

Ed slumped to the ground with a weary exhale as he settled in to wait. He ran a metal hand over his face before turning his gaze up to the ceiling. "You couldn't have just taken a kidney?"

* * *

 _I'm posting from my phone while on vacation, so I really hope the formatting shows up :,D_

 _I played with the end of this chapter for over two weeks now. I hope it's decent enough, because I'm not convinced, but I felt like I was tweaking it to death._

 _Well, like I said, I'm on vacation in the Caribbean. I have gone from the stunning pallor of a corpse to finally resembling something a bit more alive. It's good for everyone, really. But I think some of the passing ships are still mistaking me for a lighthouse. Still, it's been a wonderful vacation. I've read one and a half books, so I'm delighted. Hoping to have this last one finished before I head back home where I have little time for reading :'D It's good to read._

 _Anyways, I hope you enjoyed! If you have the time, please review, and I'll see you next chapter!_

 _God Bless,_

 _-RainFlame_


	5. Chapter 4

Ed wasn't sure how long they sat there, himself sitting on the floor, Mustang in his chair. It could have been minutes or hours, or possibly days, since nothing else seemed to be obeying the laws of physics recently. As Ed watched Mustang watch the window, he had plenty of time to think.

Ed had already concluded that he only had limited ability to interact with his environment. He walked through walls, couldn't even touch a doorknob, but somehow, he had been able to _possess_ Mustang's body, for lack of a better word. Or maybe that was the perfect word. He had actually taken control of Mustang's body, until Mustang woke up and threw him out. And, on top of that, he had been able to perform alchemy without a circle with Mustang's own hands. How did it work, though? Could he possess anyone? Was there some sort of time limit, or did Mustang just somehow regain control? The colonel hadn't acted like he knew what Ed had done. Hawkeye didn't even react to Mustang's sudden use of clap alchemy. She must have been hurting pretty bad if something like that got past her. Regardless, it was the most Ed had been able to interact with the physical world so far.

But possessing _Mustang_ , of all people . . . Ed suppressed a shudder. Eww.

Still, with more experimentation, that was bound to come in useful later.

Mustang suddenly moved, jarring Ed out of his thoughts.

It was brighter outside, the sky lightening from black to predawn gray. Thunder still growled in the distance, the rain still pattering softly on the roof and gathering in an intangible puddle under his body.

It felt like he had just sat down.

Mustang leaned forward, put his head in his hands and let out a soft curse Ed could barely hear over the rain. Then he sat up straighter and rubbed his eyes like they were aching, one hand drifting down to massage his hip.

Ed understood. Under normal, less-dead conditions, the weather usually made his port-sites ache as if his surgery had been weeks ago instead of almost four years.

It was sort of interesting how people acted when they thought no one was watching.

For example, Mustang acted terribly human.

Ed hadn't been in the military all that long, but over the past years, he had developed very strong opinions about Mustang: the man was a self-righteous glory hound and Ed had about as much use for him as he did yesterday's newspaper. The only thing Mustang was good for was a lecture and for tracking down potential leads on the Philosopher Stone.

So naturally, it came with some surprise that Mustang was capable of being, well . . . _human_.

"I can feel sorry for you and still hate your guts," Ed said aloud, though he didn't sound quite that confident. Actually, he was a little bothered by how comfortable he was becoming with talking aloud to himself. "The first step in going crazy," Ed muttered, then scowled at himself. That really was getting to be a bad habit.

But it wasn't like he had anyone else to talk to.

Well, except Mustang.

He glanced over to see the older man smirking grimly to himself; probably at some situationally inappropriate joke, because the idiot had no sense of decency.

Mustang grabbed his cane from beside his chair and used it to slowly leverage himself to his feet. He let out a soft hiss, face creasing in pain as he did. With another curse, he began a painful shuffle into the back room.

Instead of waiting around, Ed decided it would be more useful to look for signs of their attacker or any other hint of trouble. He rose fluidly to his feet, feeling none of physical pain that Mustang was struggling with, yet somehow feeling guilty about it. He reflexively brushed off his coat and stepped outside.

XxXxX

Mustang had a lot to think about as they trudged through the forest.

First and foremost, Riza.

He had patched her up as best he could that morning, redressing her shoulder and fastening a sling for her out of his spare shirt before they left, but it had become apparent when they set off that morning that Roy wasn't going to be very helpful to her, physically. He could barely get around himself, much less carry more than his small supply bag. Pride stung, he had begrudgingly let her take the two other bags on her uninjured side and let her lead the way.

He shot what he hoped was a furtive glance at her for the millionth time in the past hour. She had quickly grown weary of what she called "hovering," and two hours into their journey, declared that if he didn't stop fussing over her, she would shoot him herself.

So he had to settle himself for just watching. Watching the lines of pain deepening her face, and the way she winced on every jarring step, the subtle way she cradled her arm on their frequent rests.

Roy hated watching.

He hated her being hurt.

And even more, he hated her being hurt because of him.

The second thing he thought about was why they were in this mess to begin with.

Michael. Mustang didn't know him—had never seen him before in his life—and yet he had tried to kill Hawkeye.

He knew what letter the man was referring to, of course. He remembered it, but only because he had found it so odd. The letter was sent from Hughes, though he wouldn't have known by the return address. It was marked as being sent from Northern Command, but the handwriting was unmistakably Hughes', and Roy knew for a fact that Hughes had never spent a day in the North.

The only message inside read _"Urgent. Will call soon."_ Behind the hastily-scrawled note was a simple map of Amestris. There were some markings in the same blue ink, circles and notes, a few dates notated in the margins, but Roy had literally been on his way out the door when the letter on his desk had caught his eye, and Roy hadn't had time to call Hughes to question him or he would have missed his train to Isparta, and then Ed would have never let him hear the end of it. Now, he really wished that they had missed that train . . .

This all had something to do with that map, but what, Roy didn't know. Hughes had never bothered to mention it in their limited communications, and Roy had never thought to ask.

The final, especially irritating thing he had to think about, was strolling along beside him, hands shoved in the pockets of his garish red coat, blond hair gleaming duly under the overcast sky, and golden eyes blazing like flames as they scanned the trees around them.

Sometime during the conflict last night, Edward Elric had risen from the dead to haunt him.

Not literally, of course, because though Roy knew ghosts were all too real, that's not how it worked. Ghosts haunted you in your dreams and nightmares, in the flashes of gunfire and loud noises and the eyes of Ishvalan children and bridges and the sound of running water and every glimpse of red and gold.

Ghosts did not walk next to you in the forest, whistling the _Fürher's March_ with unparalleled pitch accuracy while making derogatory comments about Roy, someone named "Truth," the weather, and Roy again.

Roy had lost no small amount of sleep over Ed's death. Generally, it was all he could think about. It plagued him the way Ishval had plagued him, except worse. He had been responsible for Ed, and despite all of his bravado and posturing, Ed had trusted Roy, if no further than trusting him not to put him directly in harm's way.

Roy hadn't deserved his trust.

And as if to punish him for his failure, his mind had conjured up this hallucination to plague him. Except, in some ways, the boy next to him seemed more real than a hallucination should.

For instance, last night.

Roy had seen the boy appear from the wall, the way one would expect a ghost would enter. He had noted it with a numb sort of surprise. It wasn't as surprising as perhaps it should have been, though. After all, Roy was suffering from sleep deprivation, constant pain and the frayed sort of paranoia that being on the run naturally induced. He had expected the illusion to evaporate as quickly as it had materialized and Roy could get back to focusing on the man with the gun.

But it didn't evaporate. Instead, the illusion had approached, asking questions, walking around the room, and reacting to the situation as if Fullmetal were really present.

After Riza had been shot, Roy wasn't taking any more chances. He ignored the illusion completely, devoting his full attention to the situation at hand. He had eliminated Michael soon after and then turned his attention to Riza.

That was when Roy was first aware that maybe this wasn't a run-of-the-mill hallucination.

Roy became certain of that fact when Edward had _jumped into his body_ and performed clap alchemy.

Roy could not do clap alchemy, and even if he could, he didn't have enough working knowledge of mineral-based alchemy to be able to shield himself and Hawkeye with stone on the fly like that. All evidence pointed to Edward Elric, and that just didn't make sense.

Unless the hallucination wasn't actually a hallucination.

 _"Sir,"_ Riza called, her tone making him certain it wasn't for the first time.

Roy looked up. She was watching him, sherry eyes irritated but hazy from the morphine keeping her on her feet, and her pale face was covered in a sheen of sweat.

"Yes?" he asked. "Do you need a break?"

Her lips pursed in a hard line, irritation blazing in a way that made him think she was more annoyed with herself than him, and that maybe she actually did need a break. "I asked if we should reconsider our destination."

Roy found a raised bit of earth with a large tree jutting from it. He slid down to the ground, slow and painful, leaning heavily against the tree, his cane propped between his knees. He couldn't quite keep the grimace off of his face, but when his leg finally stopped throbbing, it actually felt pretty good to be off of it.

Riza was watching him, her look knowing. Finally, she sat down gingerly in front of him, wincing with the movement. "Sir, what is our plan?" Her tone suggested she was asking for a longterm strategy. "We can't keep doing this. They got close last night."

Close to killing them, she meant. Roy rubbed his eyes. "I know."

But what else could they do? They were slowly moving toward the border, toward the desert. Short of fleeing the country, there wasn't much they could accomplish in their current state, and this cat-and-mouse game was going to get them killed.

"Find Al."

Roy glanced in Ed's direction through a veil of fingers. The boy was hovering just beside Riza, golden eyes burning into his.

Roy looked to the side. "I guess that depends on what our goal is now. If it's figuring out who in the military is trying to kill us, then we should be heading to Central City. If it's surviving, we should be booking it toward the border as fast as possible."

"Al can help," Ed insisted.

Roy tried to ignore him.

"So, we head to Central."

Roy almost pulled a muscle turning too fast, eyes wide. "I'm sorry? Come again?"

She arched an eyebrow. "You said yourself that if we want to figure out who is out to kill us, then we should head to Central City."

"I would have thought the survival option would sound the most appealing." Not that Roy personally had much to lose, but when Riza was in the equation, he had everything to lose.

Ed glared over Riza's shoulder. "Since when did you become a quitter?!"

"If survival were so appealing, I wouldn't be here," Riza said, soft voice a sharp contrast to Ed's outburst. She held his gaze a few moments, then looked away.

That seemed to shut the Ed hallucination up. His aggressive stance shifted just a bit, incensed glare sliding to Riza with something more subdued.

Rain started to fall, pattering against the leaves and dirt and grass. A drop slid down Roy's nose and made a dark spot on his jacket.

"What about your goals, Roy? _Our_ goals?"

Roy looked away.

The reality of it was, he would never be what he was before. How could he possibly rise to the top as he was, a cripple with psychosis and enough post traumatic stress disorder to fill a psych ward? He couldn't even save Ed, much less a country. What did she expect him to do?

But this wasn't a battle he wanted to fight right now. "If we head to Central, we'll be heading right to the heart of it."

"They won't be expecting it."

"We'll run into our tail if we backtrack," Roy said. "You're usually the cautious one, Riza."

"And you're usually the brazen one," she countered. "We can't run forever. We have responsibilities; people that count on us."

"I know. You're right." And she was. Roy just didn't know if he was capable of protecting her anymore. "What do you suggest?"

"I suggest that we steal a car and head to East City. From there, we get in touch with our team and find out what we know."

"Steal a car. That's something I'd like to see," Ed muttered, crossing his arms. "Like Mustang could hot-wire a car. You're both going to get shot again. You need Al."

Roy fought the urge to bristle at the commentary of his own overactive imagination. "And what about our shadow?"

Riza's hand brushed against her sidearm, but Roy wasn't sure if it was conscious or not. "If he were in any position to kill us, he would have done so last night. He obviously has other things to worry about for the time being."

There was no use speculating. They had absolutely no idea where their second attacker from the previous night was. For all they knew, he went to the forest to bleed out, or was leading a whole platoon on their heels.

But still, indecision plagued him. Roy wanted nothing more than to get Riza to safety, even at the expense of their goals, dreams and his very life, but he didn't know if he could handle her disappointment in him if he failed, especially after all she had sacrificed for them to get this far. It was throwing all the blood, sweat and tears back in her face, saying that he burned her back for nothing.

And it was with his lingering guilt that he looked her in the eye and inclined his head in a slow nod. "Alright, Riza. Let's steal a car."

From over Riza's shoulder, Ed groaned. "You can't be _serious!"_

* * *

 _Poor Ed. Still thinks that absolutely no one is listening xD_

 _And Mustang thinks he's a few fries short of a Happy Meal. I mean, he probably is, though . . ._

 _Now would be a great time for me to mention that this is going to be a bit AU, and I'm taking some smallish liberties with the timeline. Because fan fiction. This chapter seems kind of slow after the last one, and I'm not just thrilled with it, but we'll pick up real fast next chapter. After all, Mustang's going to steal a car :D_

 _So I've spent the better part of the evening cleaning out my garage freezer that shut off during a power surge sometime two weeks ago. Yes, I said two weeks. You can probably imagine. But for those of you that can't, I think I know what a crime scene smells like now. I cannot unsmell what I have smelled. My nostrils have been forever tainted. Every quarter hour my gag reflex goes off at the memory. I'm going to go buy myself a bouquet of flowers now. And tie them to my face._

 _Hope you enjoyed :'D Leave a review if you have the time, and I'll see you next chapter c:_

 _God Bless,_

 _-RainFlame_


	6. Chapter 6

"You're going to get shot," Ed said for the millionth time.

For the millionth time, Mustang ignored him.

Ed didn't even really know why he was talking out loud. It was obvious no one could hear a word he said, but he still felt the need to say it. Maybe it was nerves, or maybe his desperation was showing, but he was pretty certain that tonight wasn't going to end well.

"Look, I have firsthand knowledge of crazy country people," Ed continued from beside Hawkeye, talking over the thunder rolling in the distance. Clearly the storms weren't over, though Ed found the constant rain to be an unnecessary nuisance. It definitely slowed down Mustang and Hawkeye, at any rate. "They'll shoot you for stealing a chicken. Think what they'll do over a car."

They didn't listen. Big surprise there.

Mustang and Hawkeye had passed only four farm houses through the day. One had no car—only a lone mule and a rickety-looking cart—and one had no visible mode of transportation at all. Two had vehicles, but Hawkeye had refused to steal a car from the elderly, and since the night was nearing its end, Mustang decided that this one was the best option.

Now Mustang and Hawkeye crouched at the edge of the forest under a stand of cedar trees and surveyed the farm, looking all the world like the thieves they were becoming.

Albeit kind of pathetic thieves.

The car was a dilapidated pickup truck with flaking blue paint and wooden rails around the bed. Rust had all but consumed half of its body, giving it a mottled sort of appearance. It was parked in a shed that was missing its front wall, standing about a dozen yards from the run-down house. They surveyed the area from their vantage point at the edge of the forest, but as far as Ed could tell, all the lights were off, as to be expected at this time of night.

His eyes returned to the truck. It really was a sorry sight.

"And here's a question," Ed volunteered, gesturing to the truck with an open hand. "Will that thing even start?"

"Think it will start?" Hawkeye echoed. Ed gave her a petulant look she couldn't see, feeling slighted even though he knew there wasn't much reason to. After all, it wasn't their fault they couldn't see him.

"Better hope it does, or it's the mule," Mustang said, leaning heavily against a tree. A day's trek through the forest had done him no favors, and he looked even more pathetic than before, hair still damp from the rain throughout the day and maybe even a bit paler, though Ed couldn't be sure. The older man could hardly put any weight on his bad leg without grimacing.

Ed turned his attention to Hawkeye. She wasn't much better off. She, too, looked pale, but it could have just been a trick of the blackened overcast sky, though she had to be tired. Both of them were exhausted and dirty and running on empty, and Ed couldn't help but feel a little guilty that he felt completely fine. He suspected that he could have sprinted to Briggs and back without stopping and not even break a sweat.

Dead perks.

Still, as Ed stared at the two of them, he knew that they needed this car. There was no way they could make it on foot for more than another day.

It didn't mean that Ed had to like it, though.

Mustang pulled his collar up against the damp spring wind and turned to Hawkeye. "Do you know how to hotwire a car?"

Ed made a noise that could have potentially been attributed to a strangled cat. "Shouldn't you have thought of that before it got to this point?! I said that hours ago!"

Hawkeye looked at him. "I read an article about it in one of Fuery's journals. I believe with a bit of trial and error I can manage."

Mustang nodded. "Alright. Are you ready?"

"Sir."

"Let's move out."

Ed watched them make their slow way down the hill to the farm below and thought a moment.

What was he even doing here? He was already well over twenty-four hours into Truth's week timeframe. Unless this went off without a hitch and they made it up to Central—easily a four-day ride nonstop—then he was pushing it. If he had any sense, he'd head off to find Alphonse.

But then what? Al wouldn't be able to see him either, unless as a soul with no body of his own he was able to see what no one else could.

Like Ed would get that lucky. Didn't Truth mention something about him being able to "get along just fine" without his body?

He turned a dark glare up to the dark sky. "You lied to me! You sorry, lowdown, pathetic excuse for—"

Lightening split the night, a thunderous crash on its heels. Ed jumped a mile, vision bleached for just a moment with the brilliance of it.

"FINE! Fine, I won't say it!" he promised, waving his hands in a surrendering motion. The thunder retreated, rolling into distant rumbles. "But that doesn't mean I won't think it," he muttered, glaring at the sky once more before stuffing his hands in his pockets and following Mustang and Hawkeye down the hill.

* * *

Roy thought this whole venture was a little ill-conceived, but options were limited.

Still, Hallucination-Ed brought up a couple of good points. Not that Roy would ever admit it, even to a hallucination.

He really hoped the truck would start.

Roy and Riza reached the truck undetected, the open field easy enough terrain to cross, even with their given physical ailments. Thunder growled and snarled from a distance, with the exception of a particularly close burst that made Roy jump, eyes darting to the house to make sure no farmer was at the window with a shotgun pointed their way.

Finding no one, he pressed his side to the wall of the shack, peering around the open corner to the house while Riza turned her attention back to the truck. Riza approached the driver's side, quietly pulling the handle, but when she tried to open the door it let out an unholy shriek that Roy was certain woke the dead.

As if to illustrate his point, Ed appeared beside him. "Maybe you guys could be louder? I don't think everyone in Xing heard that."

The little smart aleck was mouthing off even in death. Unbelievable. If Roy survived this, he was going to therapy.

A low rumble rolled out from the darkest corner of the garage.

It wasn't thunder.

Roy froze. Riza froze.

They locked eyes, hers wide.

"Oh, great," Ed hissed.

All three looked at the corner and saw something big and black shifting in the shadows, like ink taking shape. White gleamed and Roy could make out an impressive row of teeth bared at them, a dark paw padding against concrete as the shadow materialized into the biggest dog Roy had ever seen.

"I hope dogs love you as much as you love them, Mustang," Ed whispered, earlier exasperation now definitely apprehension.

"Sir?" Riza asked tightly.

"Get in the car," Roy hissed, not daring to move. "Slowly."

Roy was all-too aware of the beast's yellow eyes locked on him, burning with animal hatred as it took another step forward, ears alert and short muzzle curled in a snarl. The thick black fur on its neck stood on end, looking more like a hairy mountaintop instead of a dog's massive shoulders.

Roy had seen smaller buffalo.

"Good dog," he murmured, backing up one step, reaching out blindly to grasp at the door handle while the other hand reached for his gun, hoping the whole while that a boom of thunder wouldn't set the animal off. His sweaty palms slipped against the cool metal of his sidearm and the weapon tumbled over his fingers and to the ground with a loud clack

The dog took a single, lunging step forward with a malicious growl.

It took everything in Roy's power not to jump back in response. "Okay, okay! Nothing to get excited about . . . just a little gun . . ."

Riza was already in the driver's seat, her own gun drawn, but she didn't have a clear shot. "Sir," she said, her voice strained.

"It's alright, Riza," Roy assured her, but really, he was just trying to assure the dog. And himself.

The animal took another step closer, and it was only a matter of moments before it was going to lunge, and then Roy would have more than a bum leg to worry about.

Then, Ed stepped between Roy and the dog.

The dog paused, growl coming to a rumbling halt.

"Good dog," Ed said. "I want to bite him too, but that won't solve anything, okay?" The dog's snarl eased, but the growl came rolling again as it took a hesitant step back.

And its eyes were most definitely locked on Hallucination-Ed.

Well. This certainly gave Roy something else to ponder.

"Wow. Guess dogs really are smarter than people, huh?" Ed said, stepping forward. The dog retreated again, making as if to go around Ed and get at Roy, but Ed cut him off again. "Now if only Colonel Idiot would get in the truck already."

Roy could take a hint, even from his own subconscious—albeit his subconscious was doing a bang-up job of acting like the tangible world right now. Regardless, Roy bent down to pick up the gun, watching the dog warily as it made for Roy again and again was halted by Ed. Without wasting any more time, Roy yanked open the truck door and threw himself inside.

Riza gave him an indecipherable look before putting her gun on the dash and bending down to yank lose a handful of wires underneath the steering wheel. "What stopped the dog?"

"Maybe my boyish good looks and rugged charm?" Roy tried, looking back outside at where Ed was still corralling the dog, keeping the beast from getting any closer to the truck. Roy was somehow projecting some sort of supernatural Edward Elric doppelganger with his fragmented, hindered mind.

Actually, Ed being a ghost actually made more sense.

Roy was going to stop thinking about it now.

"If you could see my face, sir, you would know that I'm not convinced."

"Something has him spooked," Roy said instead. "Are you finished?"

"Almost," she said, her knife deftly peeling off the insulation on a pair of wires. She twisted them together, the cab light blinking to life as she did. Then she pulled one more wire free from the bunch, tapping it against the other two.

Sparks flew and the engine coughed, sputtered, then caught.

The dog lost its mind, barking and roaring, jaw snapping repeatedly as spittle flew in strings across the windshield.

"Uh, Riza?" Roy asked nervously as Hallucination-Ed threw himself bodily through the back door and onto the bench seat with what sounded like a pained yelp.

She dropped the wires, moved the stick shift and hit the gas, rolling out of the garage at speeds the truck probably hadn't seen since Drachma owned North City.

All of the commotion was enough to bring the dog's owner to the window with a shotgun.

"Riza," Roy said again, this time with more urgency. Or maybe panic.

"Shut up, sir!" she snapped, throwing the stick shift again as a round of buckshot slammed against the passenger door.

Another salvo cracked against the steel bed as Riza floored it, the dog pursuing in their wake, teeth flashing in the dark until it slowly disappeared behind a sudden veil of rain and mist.

Roy panted, one hand gripping his cane, the other his gun. His hands shook from adrenaline, breath forming wispy clouds against the passenger window. The rain picked up speed, pattering at a sharp staccato against the windshield as they moved down the country road, covering in a minute what they could have barely made in an hour.

"Well," Hallucination-Ed said at last. "You didn't get shot."

* * *

 _Short chapter is short :') But this is my gift to you! Merry Christmas!_

 _It seems like the second I focus on art, writing takes a backseat, and vice-verse. I always come here with the best excuses, don't I? Lol._

 _Not overly pleased with this chapter, but I rarely am, so there's that lol._

 _Quick life update: I'm about to start grad school! I'm pretty excited about it! Call me crazy, but I kind of miss doing homework (I know, I'm a nutcase). We just think I don't have time for my fanfics now xD But maybe this'll help me become more disciplined and organized . . . yeah, I know, I'm laughing too haha. Anyway, that's what I'll be doing for the next couple of years. And that stuff gets to be expensive ._. Like, holy Moses. So, if anyone is interested, my commissions are open over on deviant art (I also take writing commissions as well!). The link is in my profile ;)_

 _In other news, I've got a lot of personal stuff going on right now that I'm not ready to delve into just yet, but it might have an impact on my writing. It's going to be a rough few months mentally and emotionally, and though that kind of thing usually helps my writing, it might not this time. I'm not trying to be overly vague, I'm just having a hard time admitting/dealing with what I'm about to deal with and am not ready to put it all out there yet. Prayers are appreciated, for sure._

 _Anyway, I hope to update Starlight Star Bright soon. The next chapter is about half done! I'll respond to reviews for the last chapter here in the next couple of hours._

 _Merry Christmas! May the Lord bless you and keep you in this year and the next, and I'll see you in the next chapter of SLSB :)_

 _God Bless,_

 _-RainFlame_


	7. Chapter 7

To say the ride to East City was uneventful after the excitement of their getaway was an understatement.

It was nearly mind-numbing to just sit and watch the dark, shapeless scenery fly by past the dirty windows. In the wake of the adrenaline rush of their escape, Roy had crashed hard. He was surprised by how very tired he was, the months of grief and running—not to mention his physical injuries—taking a very obvious toll on his endurance. He fought to stay awake, though, because Riza had to be awake. It was only fair.

Roy was content to let the numbing silence continue, and almost got lost in it, if not for Hallucination-Ed.

"Are we there yet?" Ed asked for the millionth time. Roy wondered if the hallucination expected some sort of response.

All the same, Roy felt his eye start to twitch because it was the seventh time in the past hour. Despite being only a hallucination—and Roy would repeat that until he absolutely believed it was a stress-induced hallucination and not a complete mental break, thank you very much—Ed was doing a fantastic job of being just as annoying as he used to be when still alive.

His headache certainly wasn't doing him any favors, either.

"How much farther?" Roy asked after a moment, if only to get the hallucination in the back seat to shut up.

"A couple more hours," Riza answered, one hand on the steering wheel, the other pressed to her stomach. Her arm was probably causing her no small amount of discomfort at this point, and she'd had nothing more than over-the-counter painkillers to help keep the pain at bay.

Hallucination-Ed made an exasperated noise, then threw himself across the backseat. "I only have five and a half days left, and I'm still stuck in this car," he groused.

Roy had no idea what that was supposed to mean, nor why his subconscious was feeding him such information, but that was honestly the least of his worries. The fact that he was having this complex and highly believable hallucination at all was much closer to the top.

"Doesn't this thing go any faster?" Ed asked, and Roy wondered why he kept talking when Roy was doing such a good job of ignoring him. If he was a proper hallucination, why was he so obnoxiously interactive?

"When we get there, what's the plan, sir?" Riza asked, distracting Roy from his unsettling thoughts.

"Yeah," Ed added. "We're all _dying_ to know what kind of genius plan you're coming up with."

Roy couldn't help but grimace at the comment. It wasn't even remotely funny. His subconscious was certainly sick. "This was your idea, remember?" he said to Riza. "What do you suggest?"

She thought for a moment, Roy able to make out the frown on her face in the darkness. He also saw the lines of pain around her eyes and tried to smother his own guilt. "We have to stay out of sight. You are far too recognizable, and we don't exactly look like we've been part of respectable society." She was right about that. Between them, they had enough bandages to wrap up a hospital ward. "Our first order of business should be finding a place to stay. We need privacy to reach out to our team."

"Do you think that's necessary?" Roy asked. He would just as soon leave them out of this. They had been chased by the military, or at the very least, men dressed in Amestrian military uniforms. They had no idea how far up the chain of command this went, and the last thing Roy wanted was to bring this down on the heads of his friends.

"Doing this alone would be foolish, at best," Riza reminded him. "We need back up."

Roy's lip quirked in a cynical sort of smile. "You may be right. So where are you thinking?" Roy asked. "We get to East City and find some cheap motel?"

"Ordinarily, yes. But motels do not usually have a phone. Phones are risky, but if we assume we're still being followed, we unfortunately do not have the time to be subtle." They would have to settle for cautious, then. "We would have to find a payphone, and moving about puts us at even greater risk in a city with such a large military presence."

Roy fought the urge to make an impressed noise. They'd been on the run so long that Roy had almost forgotten how to think tactically, and here she was with a detailed plan, or at least the beginnings of one. "Go on."

"We'll break into Lieutenant General Grumman's house."

" _Another_ break-in?!" Ed groaned.

Roy groaned, too. "We can't just go breaking into General Grumman's house!"

"Of course not. We'll tell him first."

"Well, _of course_."

Riza didn't seem deterred by his sarcasm. "You know as well as I do that he would be willing to do anything to help as long as it didn't fall back on him in any way." Was it Roy's imagination, or was there a hint of irritation in her voice that had nothing to do with Roy's comment?

Riza's relationship with her grandfather had always been . . . _rocky_ , at best. Roy knew her when she was barely a teenager, and from what he had gathered in passing conversation in his time in the Hawkeye household, there had been some bad blood between Grumman and her father. Roy didn't know specifics, but Riza seemed to be harboring, if not a grudge, then a subtle disapproval of the man and his methods.

In his time at Eastern Command, he had gotten to know Grumman fairly well. The old man was as eccentric as he was clever. He was almost as ambitious as Roy, and like Roy, had attracted a fair amount of criticism over it. Now, he liked to play things close to the vest, doing all in his power to usurp the Fuhrer without doing anything that would call attention to himself in the process.

Actually, as begrudging as Roy was to admit it, harboring fugitives against the State seemed like Grumman's kind of scheme.

"Do you think he knows we're alive?" he wondered aloud.

Riza's eyes narrowed marginally, but Roy wasn't sure what the expression meant. "Doubtful."

Roy sighed. "I guess it's as good of a plan as we're going to get, at this point."

"Why can't we just find Al?" Hallucination-Ed demanded from the backseat _again_ , bringing Roy once again back to his other, possibly less-pressing, problem. Roy ignored Ed, because he sure wasn't going to acknowledge him now, after last night.

After he was pretty sure he and the dog had seen the same thing.

Interspecies mass hallucination? Unlikely, at best.

Roy had seen a lot of ghosts since his time in Ishval, but none of them had ever been so . . . well, _real_.

What was he supposed to make of it? If he were to tell Riza, she'd look at him like he'd finally gone off the deep end. He had, admittedly, not been in the most stable frame of mind as of late. The recent bout of action had helped him regain some sense of composure, but he knew he was dangerously close to some sort of mental break, like after Ishval. The guilt he felt over Edward's death was a black cloud that he could not seem to shake. That, combined with a lack of purpose, was slowly eating away at him.

Well. He'd just have to focus on the task at hand and completely ignore Hallucination-Ed until he could think of a more plausible reason that he was seeing the boy, aside from being either crazy or haunted, because he was comfortable with neither.

And as he came to that decision, something exploded.

The truck skidded, Riza cursed, and the vehicle was airborne.

XxXxX

Ed may not have been able to feel pain, per se, but summersaulting down a shallow ditch inside the body of a truck made him uncomfortably aware of what it felt like to be a tossed salad.

Ed braced one hand on the ceiling, one on the seat, wondering how that much was possible, and wondering if it was possible to be sick with an immaterial stomach.

Ed's _condition_ let him take in details he was sure Hawkeye and Mustang were missing. He watched the dark, starless sky become the ground, the world outside turning through the windshield as both Mustang and Hawkeye whipped around like rag dolls in a dog's teeth. Hawkeye's head cracked against the window on the first roll, the truck turning one more time before smashing into a tree with an ear-splitting shriek of ripping metal and shattering glass.

The sudden silence was deafening.

It took him long seconds to summon the courage to move, frozen in place with shock. A fine drizzle of mist rolled in from the broken windows, making the air shimmer and drifting through his incorporeal body.

Finally, Ed shivered, breaking the spell. He twisted onto his shoulder, his legs following him down in the upside-down cab, shaken more emotionally than physically. He landed in an uncomfortable heap on the glass-strewn roof and leaned forward, panting for no other reason than that he was scared.

Scared for Mustang and Hawkeye.

Neither were moving, suspended from above by their seatbelts. "Mustang?" he tried out of reflex, before reminding himself that the action was completely futile. Still, a thrill of panic ran up his spine when no one responded. He couldn't see anything but the backs of their heads.

With a curse, Ed rolled right through the back door, noting that it was so distorted that even if he could, it probably wouldn't have opened for him.

Though he had been able to brace himself against the ceiling . . . but this wasn't the time to ponder that.

Shaking off the extreme pins-and-needles sensation from passing through solid objects, and the disorientation of being upside-down, Ed glanced around. The darkness was not a problem for his eyes, but he didn't see anything out of the ordinary; just trees and shrubs and the dirt road they'd fallen from just a few meters up the slope, broken bits of glass and metal strewn along the truck's path like macabre confetti.

But they hadn't crashed for no reason. Hawkeye was nothing if not perfect at nearly everything she did, and driving was no exception. Besides, his sixth sense for trouble was practically shrieking in the back of his head like a siren.

Someone was out there.

When nothing out of the ordinary manifested itself, Ed circled the truck, coming around to the front. He got down on all fours and looked inside, staring past the jagged edges of glass that looked like broken teeth to the unsettling picture framed before him.

Hawkeye was the worst off, as far as he could tell. Her side door rested against the tree, conformed around it and effectively trapping her between it and the center console. A rivulet of blood streamed down her forehead and disappearing into her hairline from a cut in her temple, but she was breathing, features slack in unconsciousness.

Mustang looked better, but not by much. Ed couldn't make out anything aside from a few gashes across his pale face, blood languidly dripping on the glass below. Mustang was already rousing though, a low groan slipping from his throat and a slow frown gradually contorting his features.

"That's right," Ed encouraged uselessly. "Get your lazy self together, Mustang."

Getting to his feet, he sprinted up the slope to the road, cresting it just in time to see a figure dressed in black moving out of the tree line, a shadow congealing into solid shape.

With him, Ed could make out the unmistakable silhouette of a rifle in its hands.

Swallowing the urge to duck out of sight, Ed glanced back down at the truck, finally understanding.

One of the back wheels was completely destroyed, its rubber strewn across the road before him in chunks and slivers.

This dirtbag had shot out their tire.

 _"Great,"_ Ed muttered. Even from here, he could make out the short ponytail. It was his friend from last night. Ed glanced back down to the truck below, Mustang and Hawkeye vulnerable inside.

He didn't have much time.

With another curse and an ill-formed plan, Ed dove back down the hill and back to the front of the truck. Mustang hadn't made much progress, his eyes still screwed tightly shut. "Mustang, I know you suck at listening to me like you suck at everything else, but I'm going to possess you for a minute, and I really need you to cooperate."

As predicted, Mustang ignored him.

So, Ed got back on his feet and launched himself at his commanding officer.

And wow, did it _hurt_.

Aside from the discomfort Ed remembered from the other night, and the strange sense of _otherness_ Ed got from suddenly being inside a body that was not his, the sudden onslaught of pain and misery had him choking back the desire to vomit. His head screamed at him from the building pressure of being upside-down, and his shoulder felt like it might have been dislocated. Every breath brought a wave of fresh pain, bruised or broken ribs straining against the seatbelt. Actually, there wasn't anything that did not feel like it had been hit by a train, and Ed almost wanted to pass out then and there.

But he reminded himself that Mustang and Hawkeye were about to be executed if he didn't get it in gear, so he opened Mustang's bleary eyes and reached with Mustang's clumsy, too-big hand toward Hawkeye.

"S-sorry 'bout this," Ed said with Mustang's voice, his lips feeling slack and the words coming out a slur. He was sure Hawkeye would shoot Mustang if she had been awake for touching her, period. He reached inside her coat pocket and grabbed the gun she'd kept holstered there, all the while painfully aware of the time crunch he was on.

Ed absently wondered if this was what it was like to be drunk, large hand painfully working at the piece in her pocket until, finally, pulling it free of the fabric.

In the back of his mind, Mustang stirred, a warm, fluttering sensation that pushed forward before receding back. Clearly, he was just too lazy to wake up all the way. Completely useless.

Ed tried to squash down the voice that was really, really worried about that.

He placed the weapon on the roof of the car over his head in a bed of shattered glass, then clapped his hands and turned the seatbelt holding him hostage into a pile of fabric scraps. He barely caught himself in time to save Mustang's head from an uncomfortable encounter with the hard metal as he fell from the chair.

"Ow," Ed groaned, too distracted to be disturbed by how weird the word sounded in Mustang's voice. Everything _hurt_. He twisted, the motion much more difficult now that he was in Mustang's larger frame, bringing his feet down from under—above?— the console and ignoring the accent of pain he felt in the older man's right shoulder and side. He simply didn't have time to coddle Mustang's battered body.

He scrabbled out of the missing windshield, earning Mustang a few more cuts in the process, and got to his feet as quickly as he could.

The man's left leg gave out and sent him back to the wet ground.

Mustang's mouth cursed in a way the colonel's mother might have disapproved of. Ed looked back into the cab of the truck but did not see the cane. He clapped his hands, drawing a familiar circle in his head and pulling a crutch made of metals up from the earth below him. Ed was more comfortable with a crutch, anyway.

He got to his feet just in time to see the shadowed man appear over the top of the hill.

Both of them froze.

Then, without a word, the man brought the rifle up to his shoulder.

Ed had never liked guns. To him, they were all but unpredictable, the bullet out of his control as soon as it left the chamber. Alchemy was much more reliable, but Hawkeye had insisted he learned how to use one, taking him and Al out to the range every Saturday they were in East City to practice.

Now he was pretty grateful, because Ed wasn't sure Mustang's body could have gotten to the ground that quickly for a transmutation and gotten back up again.

Ed raised Hawkeye's handgun, flicked the safety, and squeezed off three shots.

The sound in the quiet night was enough to make Ed's ears ring, each bark a staccato to his already-splitting headache, but the man immediately retreated from the ridge and out of sight, taking cover from Ed's barrage.

Ed backed up toward Hawkeye's side of the truck, squeezing off two more shots before placing the weapon on top of the undercarriage and clapping his hands. He placed them on the truck, the metal peeling away like sharp petals of a flower.

A bullet struck the truck maybe six inches in front of him, golden sparks burning his eyes.

"Do you _mind?!_ " Ed shouted, his irritation purely panic-induced now. He ducked behind the cab, Mustang's hip protesting.

"Come on, Hawkeye," he said, another transmutation taking care of her seatbelt as another bullet ricocheted off the truck. Mustang's shoulder screamed at him, but he pulled her as gently as he could afford to from the battered cab.

Something flared in his head, a wave of hot panic that wasn't his own.

Then Mustang promptly threw him out.

* * *

 _Am I happy with this chapter?_

 _No._

 _Am I happy that I managed to write something?_

 _Abso-freaking-lutely._

 _I re-wrote it three times, though, and edited it four, so I'm going to leave it alone now lol._

 _So, if you're not following_ Starlight, Star Bright _, I'm going to try to be back now. Of course, now that I'm back, I haven't touched my art tablet in days haha. I wasn't built for more than two hobbies at once. Grad school starts again for the summer next week, then I'm leaving on a two week trip out of country, so though I am excited, I'm wondering what that will do to my update schedule. All I can promise is that I'm going to finish this one and SSB lol._

 _And if you haven't noticed, I did not reply to previous reviews, but I will start doing so on the next chapter :) Thank you guys for your patience, and sorry for the sudden hiatus._

 _If you have the time, please leave a review, and I will see you next chapter :)_

 _God Bless,_

 _-RainFlame_


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